Close Every Door
by fiologica
Summary: The Lord had plans for Joseph, but first he needed to be prepared. Aziraphale drew the short straw for that duty. But he's not the only celestial being on the cell block...


It always took time for Aziraphale's eyes to adjust to the gloom when he arrived at the prison. In the meantime, countless other sensations assaulted him: the rank scents of human waste, of sweat, of blood, of death; the sounds of chains, of barked orders, of keening wails of despair. The miasma of sheer hopelessness, of fear, anger, sorrow, misery struck him as ferociously. Aziraphale felt his very skin crawl, and somewhere underneath that, perhaps his divine essence as well. Had it not been for his previous visits, he might have balked at the job he had been given, and simply booked it out of there. But… no, he had a mission. He couldn't just walk away. The Ineffable Plan depended on him.

The man closest to Aziraphale was fast asleep. Unkempt, matted hair fell over his eyes. The angel's heart broke at the sight of the man, so thin that his bones could be easily seen. He might as well have been a skeleton.

Aziraphale choked back a very sudden sob that wanted to escape him. How could the Lord let her creations languish so? How could She let them enact such cruelties upon each other? He quashed that question just as he had choked back the tears. Surely the other side had something to do with it. That must have been the answer, right?

Reaching out, Aziraphale rested a hand on the man's head, muttering a blessing, and then moved on.

He continued to bless the prisoners, moving unseen from cell to cell. Here and there, clean water appeared in a bucket; a loaf of bread for the hungry; injuries faded and healed. It wasn't much, but it was at least something.

Aziraphale passed into another cell, once more resting his hand upon a sleeping prisoner's head. They issued a soft moan, curling into a ball. Aziraphale immediately hated himself, a wave of self-recrimination rising up within him. As if the prisoners didn't have enough to deal with without also being deliberately given nightmares! Yes, it was all part of the Ineffable Plan, but…

The angel sighed, and brushed a lock of hair from the prisoner's face.

"I'm sorry, dear chap," he murmured sadly, furrowing his brows. "May the Lord keep you in Her love."

A quick glance from side to side, and then Aziraphale quickly muttered a blessing over the prisoner, hoping that it might at least mitigate the horror of what might be going on in their unconscious mind.

From somewhere nearby, a voice piped up. A familiar voice. Belonging to someone who shouldn't be there.

"Angel? Is that you?"

Aziraphale whipped around to face the owner of the voice. He wasn't prepared for the jolt in his belly, as if he had been kicked, upon seeing them in chains, and looking rather dishevelled.

"Crowley!"

"Hi there," said Crowley, offering a wan smile. "What's an angel like you doing in a place like this?"

Several responses flashed through Aziraphale's mind as he bristled at how casual Crowley seemed. Did he not care that he was imprisoned? That he could di– be inconveniently discorporated by remaining, even if he could so easily miracle his way out? That he looked and sounded absolutely terrible?

At last, Aziraphale crouched next to Crowley, knitting his brows together, his features etched with the deepest concern.

"I could ask you the same question, my dear fellow," said Aziraphale mildly.

"I'm sure you could," Crowley murmured in response.

Aziraphale sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was going to have to read between the lines and decipher the demon's meaning. Luckily, on this occasion, it was easy enough.

"What are you doing here, Crowley?"

"Got caught trying to tempt a guard to abandon his post down here. They thought I was one of this lot, trying to escape."

Aziraphale opened and shut his mouth wordlessly a few times, trying to wrap his mind around Crowley's admission. Before he could say anything, Crowley went on.

"Can't say I've ever had someone see straight through me like that before, much less mistake me for human" said Crowley, genuine puzzlement crossing his expression. He reached down, and picked up a black feather. There were a few scattered around him, despite the fact that his wings were folded in and hidden. "I think it's just that I'm in wing-moult right now," he said, studying the feather. "Powers sometimes go a bit iffy during wing-moult, right?"

It was not something Aziraphale had ever experienced. Moulting angels could easily get help with straightening things up a bit, but it was never usually a source of trouble.

His expression must have said it all, because Crowley's face fell. He sighed.

"No, just me, then?" He rubbed a hand over his face, as if suddenly exhausted. "Ngk, OK."

"Crowley-" Aziraphale started. He needed to get the demon out of the prison. No matter how he tried to justify it – that Crowley was, after all, a demon; that surely Crowley could just miracle himself out; that Heaven wouldn't thank him for it – he just couldn't walk away.

Crowley just reached out and gripped Aziraphale's wrist, smiling slightly. There was something… warm, in his eyes. Something kind.

"Crowley," said Aziraphale again, pleading.

"I'll be fine, Angel. Promise. Soon as I stop moulting, I'll be out of here." He squeezed Aziraphale's wrist reassuringly. Then, changing the subject, Crowley added, "also, have you met Joseph yet? Seems a bright lad, really. Shame about the business with Potiphar."

Aziraphale looked up, glancing over at the cell where Joseph appeared to be counselling a fellow cellmate. Then, he turned his gaze on Crowley suspiciously.

"Is that why you're really here?"

Confusion passed over Crowley's features, and he frowned, fixing Aziraphale with a piercing look.

"Do you really think I'd lie to you, Aziraphale?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, and then as an afterthought added, "and don't come at me with that, 'yes because you're a demon' nonsense." His voice steadily rose as he went on, as if a rapidly approaching storm cloud bringing thunder and ruinous rain. "I swear to you, I had no idea. Downstairs just told me to make some mischief, and this is how it ended up! Do you think I'd willingly stay here, looking like this, if I had a choice in the matter?!"

Aziraphale flinched at every sharp word, at Crowley's wounded tone. If his heart could have skipped a beat, it certainly would have. He looked away, avoiding the demon's gaze.

"No, I-I-I– I suppose you're right," stumbled Aziraphale. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, his ears and face burning suddenly with shame. How could he have hurt his– his friend? It really was the only term for the odd relationship the two had struck up over the centuries.

"Crowley," said Aziraphale gently, steeling himself and meeting the demon's gaze. "Crowley, I am so sorry, I didn't think-"

"I know," said Crowley quietly. It was a damning indictment of the angel's behaviour, spoken so softly that Aziraphale almost wished Crowley would rage and shout. Nevertheless, he accepted it with a deliberate nod.

"Yes, and I truly apologize."

Crowley studied Aziraphale for a moment. He allowed the demon's gaze to sweep over him, to meet his eyes again. Then, at last, Crowley nodded.

"Apology accepted."

Silence fell as Crowley tilted his head back a little to rest against a wall, closing his eyes. He released a tense breath, and Aziraphale watched while Crowley tried to relax.

"For… what it's worth, Joseph is actually why I am here," admitted Aziraphale, grimacing. "Drew the ah… the short straw, I'm sure you know how it is."

"You're the one who's been terrorising everyone with nightmares?" Crowley opened an eye to glance at Aziraphale, who sighed and nodded, a grim expression on his face.

"All for the greater good, apparently," said Aziraphale unhappily, furrowing his brows. "From what I understand, young Joseph needed knocked down a peg or two, hence how he ended up in here."

"Of course," Crowley muttered dryly. Aziraphale ignored him.

"But, the Lord has plans for him, so that's… why I am here. To make sure he gets a chance to hone his abilities. He's going to need it soon enough."

Just then, a door opened at the end of the corridor. A pair of guards and a more formally dressed soldier marched down the row of cells – Aziraphale tried to sink into the shadows as much as possible to avoid being seen – before finally stopping where Joseph had been locked up.

"Good grief, what a smell," the soldier grumbled. "He's not going to Pharaoh stinking to the high heavens, I can tell you that right now."

"I'm afraid you'll have to bathe him yourself, sir," said one of the guards insolently. "We're a prison, not a wash-house."

"Any more of that, and I'll see you behind bars for your cheek, sonny," the soldier replied. The guard stiffened. "Anyway, I don't have time for this," the soldier added, turning his attention to the cell. "Joseph, son of Jacob? You're up, sonny-boy. Pharaoh wants to see you."

An odd hush fell over the cell block. Joseph himself was silent as he was lead from the cell. His entire body screamed the questions he wanted to ask - why him, why the Pharaoh of all people, had he done something to displease him - but instead he fell into formation with the guards and the soldier as they lead him from the block. A few prisoners whispered blessings and wished him good luck on the way past. Then, the group was gone, and the door closed once more.

"I guess he really will need that gift sooner rather than later," Crowley commented. "I just hope he knows what he's doing."

"So do I," sighed Aziraphale. So much for the dreams and nightmares he had slipped into peoples' minds that night. Still, he had at least been able to place a few blessings, and maybe help a few people, but…

Next to him, Crowley tried to reach around to his back to scratch an itch. He whined, unable to maneuver into position.

"Ngk, bloody wing moult," he grumbled.

Aziraphale rested a hand on Crowley's shoulder, catching his eye.

"Let me get you out of here. Please."

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a moment, and then, he nodded.

"If you're sure."

"I am."

Heaven didn't need to know, strictly speaking, and even if they found out, Aziraphale could always claim to be removing a malevolent influence to prevent the spread of evil in the cell block. He snapped his fingers, and the heavy chains binding Crowley's hands and feet felt away. The demon relaxed and sighed, rubbing his wrists.

"That feels so much better already," he admitted. "I suppose I should thank you?"

"Better not," said Aziraphale, shaking his head. "I still need to get you out."

"That'll be a dawdle," said Crowley with a wry smile. "All we need is a pair of uniforms…"

So it was that as a young man with an incredible gift faced his fate and the Pharaoh, an angel and a demon walked out of prison together, and the sun began to rise over Egypt, bringing with it a new day.

END


End file.
